Londoners in Manhattan
by TheAngelsAt221B
Summary: Rory and Amy have been sent back in time to 1922. This story chronicles their times there. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Of course they'd fall on the hard cement of a dark alley on different cold winter nights. The angels would have it no other way. They have a passion for theatrics, those angels._

_I should probably introduce you to those funny little statues. They're lethal, but not in the sinister way you'd expect aliens to be. No, the angels were kinder in their killings. They'd send their victims back in time, feed on that energy, and let them die of old age, or a car crash, cancer, it doesn't matter. Sometimes they'd go back in time a decade, sometimes a century. I've studied one case where a poor soul was sent back to the dawn of time. The angels must have been very hungry._

_I do hope you'll read up more on these curious creatures. This story isn't about these aliens, though they are very interesting. No, this story is about two victims. They're story is subjectively unimportant, however, if you knew the circumstances by which they became victims, you'll wish you knew more. I know I do._

_You may be asking yourself who I am. Well, dear readers, I'm just a narrator. I'm an anonymous observer._

_Now, enjoy the story of Mr. and Mrs. Williams._

* * *

"Rory!" Amy shouted. She dusted herself off as best she could. Her husband was no where to be seen. The Doctor had told her they might not end up in the same place. She had been relying on the kindness of the angel in the graveyard. The alien could have sent her to another world, to a completely different time.

"Rory!" she cried again, more desperate this time.

It was cold. She had landed in a wet alley way. He clothes clung to her body as she shook violently. She called his name over and over again. After an hour it became clear she'd have to find shelter. Hard, piercing rain had begun to fall. Amy pulled out a red tube. Her trembling hand wrote her husband's name on the side of a dumpster.

She walked out of the alley, violently shaking. She had no place to go. Hell, she didn't even know where she was. She reached the entrance of the street. To her right was a neighborhood, the left a city. Perhaps she could flag down a police man there. She turned, walking towards the lights.

It took a long time to find a police station. She asked around, getting different answers every time. Amy was used to the universe's wiles. She just wished it hadn't decided to be a bitch then.

She missed Rory. She had just seen him. But how many years ago had that been? Amy sought out some inclination of the date, her location, and most importantly, her husband.

Upon reaching the police station, she noticed a news stand out front by the entrance. She ran to it, only to find it empty. She sighed and tried for the door. It was locked. She commented sarcastically about just how wonderful all this was. She silently wondered what kind of police station was closed at night, especially in such a shady city as this one appeared to be.

Desperately she banged on the glass doors and as a rain hit her back. "Please open this door!" she shouted, hoping someone would hear her. "Please!" She turned around and sat on the station's porch. Her sobs mingled with the rain as they ran down her face.

She was an emotional wreck at this point in the day. She'd left her daughter, her best friend, everyone from home, and for what? She couldn't even find the man she'd gone searching for. All hope had drained from her. She was overwhelmingly tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up with Rory in their bed on the ship she already missed.

Headlights gleamed as they passed her. They reflected off the standing water. She had begun to ignore them and didn't even notice when a police car pulled in. His calls pulled her from the vacant stare she had lapsed into. "Miss!" he called. She had no idea how many times he's said that. Finally she looked up, then jumped to her feet. "Miss, can I help you?" he asked.

Light had returned t her eyes as she had found a new hope. "Sir, have you head any of a Rory Williams? He's my husband. We... we immigrated. We came from Europe but got separated." Amy marveled at how easily the lie had come out. It hadn't occurred to her until them how many times she'd lied about her identity while traveling with the Doctor.

The police officer waved for her to follow him. He unlocked the door to the station. "We're short tonight, what with it being the holidays and all. I had to leave the station to respond to a call. I apologize, ma'am." He opened the door for her, she nodded in gratitude.

He walked to a counter where a book sat. "That was "Rory Williams", you said?" He flipped through his book, not bothering for an answer. Amy sat down as he searched the pages.

She was surprised to see a newspaper to her left. Printed right there on the front page of the New York Times was the date. It was December 24, 1922. Christmas Eve. They hadn't moved in space, just in time.

The officer spoke up, removing her eyes from the paper. "Rory Williams, 6 foot tall, English-man?" He looked at Amy, eyebrows up.

"Yes! Yes that's him." He lead to her feet. "Where is he?"

He waited a moment before answering. "He came in two weeks ago. I'll have to call someone about this." He dialed a number and spoke to someone on the other side for a couple of minutes. "He's in a homeless shelter on 41st. What you'll want to do is take a left-"

"Oh no, Mr. Police Man," Amy interrupted, "You'll take me there. I've search all over this city looking for my husband and you will not send me back out in the rain to get lost again." Her attitude had returned with the hope of finding her Rory.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to her. He had a slight smile, but at the same time he appeared to be annoyed. He locked the door to the station as soon as they were both outside. They both climbed into his car and he turned the key to start. The vehicle jumped into motion and they set off.

She was definitely in New York, she decided. Everything was familiar to some extent. Finally he stopped, just as the rain began to pick up again. "Here you go."

Amy thanked him profusely before closing the car door. She ran to the entrance and up to the front desk. A weary old woman sat there, reading a newspaper. "Rory Williams," Amy questioned, clutching the table top, "Is there a Rory Williams here?"

The woman looked up, eyebrows knitted in confusion. "R-O-R-Y?" Amy nodded eagerly. The woman flipped through her own book. "He checked out of the shelter two days ago."

Amy's face went white. "Do you know where I can find him?" she asked, her teeth gritted.

The woman shook her head. "People come in and leave every day. We can't keep tabs on all of them."

Amy put her head on the desk. She sighed heavily. "Can I stay here for tonight?"

"Name?"

"Amelia Pond."


	2. Chapter 2

The red letter were a bit smeared but their message was clear. His name written in his wife's bright lip shade. She was here, and he was going to find her. He took a permanent marker out of his pocket. He had stuck it in there before being sent back, but he couldn't remember when.

Really, everything before he had been sent back was a blur. It wasn't important.

He wrote her name under his. He closed his eyes as he capped the pen. He wanted nothing more than to find her. It had been weeks since he'd seen her, and until he saw his name written in that alley, he thought he'd never see her again.

His Amy, with her red hair, those eyes, just everything about her. He missed her smile and her laugh and the way she called him and idiot. He sat against the brick wall for a while and just thought about her.

Hope was restored to some extent. Amy was here at least, that counted for something. He'd find her. He knew that now.

Finally, Rory stood up. He dusted the alley's dirt off of him and went back to his business. He turned left, the direction he'd been going before he saw the letters, and continued searching for a job.

Rory had grown sick of the shelter. The food was cold, the employees and volunteers looked down on him condescendingly, and he was more than ready to leave it. He'd spent two nights on the streets in favor of it.

He had arrived in this new time with no money, he had come with nothing at all, really. He'd have to start from scratch. His plan was to get a job, then an apartment, create a life here. He was stuck here. That he new to be true. Rory knew enough about paradoxes to understand that he'd live out his life here. Hopefully he'd be able to live it out with Amy.

Rory was finally hired by the end of the day. He applied at the hospital as a doctor. The psychic paper the Doctor had given him listed all his "credentials" and the administrator appeared very impressed. Rory wasn't worried about not actually being qualified. His 21st century training put him above most of the doctors he'd be working with.

He'd start work tomorrow. He couldn't let the shelter staff know. They'd kick him out if the knew he was employed as a doctor. He'd have to stay there for a while though, at least until his first paycheck. Maybe after that he'd find an apartment.

He was on his way back to the shelter to check in again. Mrs. Clarence, the shrill woman at the front desk would be sad to see him. She'd hated him from the moment he walked in. After all, he was clean-shaven Englishman in good clothing. How could he be doing anything other than cheating the system?

He opened the door. Mrs. Clarence looked up at him. "Ah, Mr. William," her voice sounded like nails against a chalk board, "Woman came in looking for you. A Ms. Pond, if I remember correctly."

Rory felt his heart flutter with excitement. Hi stomach seem to do a flip. "Is she here?" he asked eagerly.

"Room 232," Mrs. Clarence told him. Rory sprang to life and ran to find his Amy.


	3. Chapter 3

Agent Cove inspected the names for a long time. His targets were very kind to leave clues for him. He had been assigned to find them. They were the ticket to the infamous Doctor.

Ever since the Titanic incident, in which the Doctor stopped some passengers from getting on, the organization had made it its mission to find this Doctor. He was rewriting time, and they couldn't stand for that.

In this latest series of events, two people had come to a time where they didn't belong. The experts had deemed this the work of the angels. The usual case ended with the person being "shut up". Their memories were erased and new ones were put in place. A new life was created for them. It was all rather tedious. In some ways, this case was easier.

Not for Cove, mind you. No, it was all the same to him. He'd catch his prey and deliver them. Cove was a bounty hunter of sorts. He had no say in what happened to those he caught, it was only his job to deliver them. In that way, this case was no different.

For the majority of his colleagues, this case was as peculiar and exciting as they come. Studies on these two had been going on for years. They'd pop up in different time periods along with the Doctor. They were his companions. They knew more about him than anyone else, and the organization needed that.

They knew more about Williams than Pond. He had become known as "The Roman" to everybody who collected data on him. As for Pond, they knew she was closer to the Doctor the The Roman. She knew more. Cove had been told that if he were to only get one of them, to get the woman.

Cove, however, wanted them both. It was a personal goal He had become cold. He was completely apathetic towards his targets. Like a hunter pointing his gun at a mother doe, he only saw dinner on the table. Catching the angel's victims was the only way he had to support himself and his family.

Of course he had other skills. Cove was gifted in mathematics. He could have become a successful banker had he wanted to. Unfortunately for him, once you were a part of the organization, you could never leave. Just by walking in the front door you knew way too much. Cove had grown weary of the constant game of cat and mouse, but he was stuck in it.

He finished taking notes and samples of the two names. He closed his notebook and continued on to base. He'd send the swabs to the lab above his office when he got back. Perhaps those guys could figure out what the pen was made of. A regular one would have rubbed off. He was at a loss, but it wasn't his job to figure out.

He stuck the notepad back in his pocket, sighed, pulled his hat's brim down, and left the scene. He would continue his search in the morning. For now, he was going home to a warm meal and his beautiful Anabel.


End file.
